Another Day
by samanthavee
Summary: Alternate Reality. What if Bobby had died that day instead of Jack? How the Mercers deal with losing their older brother. Romance, action, and lots of cursing.
1. Chapter 1

Things were silent as cars pulled up to the gravesite. Old boxing buddies, hockey buddies, Jerry, Angel and Jack added up to about twelve. But they were there, and Bobby would have appreciated it.

The fact that Bobby was dead was tough to bear for all of them; He had been a great fighter, a great player, but more importantly a great brother. He was loyal only to the things he believed in most, and ended up dying for one of them, the one whose arm was in a sling and whose shoulder was bandaged up.

Jack Mercer had not come from a happy home. He was born in Lansing, Michigan to a crack head mom and a deadbeat dad. He had one older brother, Damen. When his dad would get drunk or his mom would bring home guys to fuck for trades, Damen was the one who made sure Jack didn't know. But he knew. It's hard to hide from an eight year old the bruises on your arms and back you took for him, and even harder to hide the bloody knuckles that made it stop. But, Damen made it work.

Until one day down the road, Damen received a knock on the door telling him that he'd stolen a car to get Jack to school on time and that he would have to go to prison for a very long time. Ten year old Jackie said he'd be okay, that he was big enough now to sock his dad one if he tried anything. Damen didn't believe him, but said Jack was right anyway.

Three nights later, Jack's dad came home only to discover that he didn't like the way Jack was sitting at the kitchen table, attempting to do his homework. Jack's father broke his arm in two places, and turned his face black and blue before Jack managed to get out of the way. He went over to the neighbor's house and she called an ambulance, making sure that Jack's dad wasn't going to come after him. Her name was Marie Townsend. She had a boy just a little older than Jack. Gregory had a hot temper, and asked Jack if he wanted him to kick Jack's dad's ass. Marie told him no, and that the police would take care of it.

But the police didn't take care of it. They sent Jack back home, patched up and defenseless. They told him he shouldn't try so many stunts on a skateboard.

That Saturday, after seeing Jack at the end of his driveway playing a dollar store guitar, Gregory gave him a tip. He told Jack the next time his father wanted to touch him that he should hit him with a baseball bat. Gregory was big; he played ice hockey and got into a lot of fights around the neighborhood. Jack trusted him.

That same night, Jack's dad was on his usual drunk rampage, looking for anything and everything that was convenient to unleash his anger on. Jack just so happened to be in his room, reading for school. There was a baseball bat under his bed. Still, it was unexpected when he was thrown against the opposite wall and kicked until he couldn't breathe. He crawled for the weapon, taking a series of light kicks to do it.

When he stood up, his father actually laughed. What was a little fairy like him going to do with a baseball bat? Hit him? No, Jack was going to put the baseball bat down like a good little boy and take what he got like a man. But the boy wouldn't let go of his protection.

As soon as he saw a fist coming for him, Jack swung. In that second, he found something in him, some deep primal anger that a ten year old shouldn't have or use. But he did. And once he swung, he couldn't stop, even after his father had dropped to the floor, his face a bloody and broken mess. Jack stopped only when he was out of breath, his chest heaving, those tiny lungs burning after taking such a rough bout.

He looked down, in shock. There was blood on his hands, on his carpet, even on his bedspread. How had that happened? His father had told him to the bat down, so why didn't he? Now look what had happened; he was going to get his ass beat for sure.

Grabbing only what clothes he could stuff in his backpack and a jacket, Jack ran out of the house, down the road, and as far as his legs would carry him from his father and his hands.

Eventually, the cops picked him up. He didn't have any idea where he was, so he just stopped answering the police mans questions. They put him in foster care, but soon case workers and foster parents found that he had a violent streak, almost to the point of being bipolar. And so he was rejected, again and again, until there was no place left for him to go. He was failing in school, and it didn't help that his friends were rejects and degenerates like him.

Then Evelyn Mercer took him in. He had stayed at her house many times from the time he was ten till he was fifteen, when she adopted him. And, even though they did butt heads, she knew how to handle him. She had three other sons, all adopted, and they were coming from the same places Jack had run from, so they knew what he was going through.

And so Jack had settled in to the Mercer house as a part of the family. His brothers gave him a hard time because of his loneliness, called him a fag and teased him about his love for music. He shared a passion for hockey with Bobby, and in general Bobby seemed to look out for him.

But, just like everything else, it changed. Bobby left, Angel joined the Marines after he graduated, and Jerry got married and went into investing. Jack stayed in school, making average grades and generally keeping it out of trouble. Then, out of the blue, He woke up to a hard knock on the door that told him his mother had been shot while buying a turkey for Thanksgiving. The sweetest, most generous woman in the world had been taken down by a group of mindless thugs out for vengeance. They took it in blood; hers, his own, and Bobby's. Angel and Jerry had made sure there wouldn't be anymore killing, but they wouldn't tell him how. Jack didn't care, to be honest, he just wanted his life back. Jeremiah wanted him to move in with his family, and Jack wanted to stay in the house with Angel and Sofi. After many nights of fighting, Jack finally won out. He went drinking often; sometimes with Angel but mostly alone, just to escape the scenes replaying in his head. The bartenders for the most part indulged him, but a few wouldn't serve him without ID, no matter who he was or what had recently happened to his family.

One night in particular, Jack found that the alcohol wasn't helping.

"Aren't you Jack Mercer?" the woman sitting next to him asked. She was young, older than he was, so maybe around Angel's age.

"Who's asking?" He looked at her with dazed eyes. She was pretty, but that might have been the four pints of alcohol talking. She smiled.

"One of my friends has you in her English class. She says you're smart, but you need to learn to take off the headphones."

"Aren't all teachers supposed to say stuff like that?"

The woman shook her head. "Not really. But I've read some of your stuff, and for what it's worth, you are pretty good. Very dark poetry, but it comes from a good place."

"When you see some of the stuff I've seen, you'll write dark poetry too."

"I heard you're brother Bobby just died."

Jack nodded, taking another drink of his Corona.

"He was a good guy. Won us the hockey championship four years in a row in high school."

"You went to high school with Bobby?"

She nodded. "I didn't really know him, but I knew of him. Anybody with two ears, tits, or a loud mouth knew about Bobby Mercer. I think he holds the school record for longest period of out of school suspension."

"Twenty seven days." They said together. Jack smiled.

"Let me buy you a drink. Danny, whatever the kid wants, give it to him."

"You know technically, that's illegal." Jack pointed out, accepting a shot of whiskey. The woman shrugged.

"Alright, I'm headed home. I've got papers to grade, and that in itself can sober a person up. I'll see you tomorrow Danny." The woman sighed, sliding off of her barstool so she could put on her coat.

"Hey, take this punk home." The bartender pointed to Jack.

"What?" Jack looked at him like he was delusional.

"It's nearly midnight, you've been here since nine, and I know you don't plan on driving your sorry ass home, so I won't be the one to let you walk and get smashed by a car. Evelyn and Bobby didn't die so you could too." He took Jack's shot glass and half empty bottle away. Jack groaned, slowly standing up and putting on his coat. He was tall, almost six foot two. He was skinny though, built like a fighter, or someone who just didn't worry too much about eating.

"This is the car you drive?" Jack stared for a minute as the S2000 in front of him. The woman nodded, unlocking her door and getting in.

"Holy shit. You can't take this to my neighborhood; you'll get shot in the head."

"I'd like to see them try." She smiled a smile that he'd seen on Jeremiah once or twice, like they looked innocent until you pressed your face against the glass. She reached over and pushed his door open, looking up at him.

"We might have to bend you in half to fit you though."

He laughed, the drunken loudness of it amplified by the silence and the snow around them.

"So what do you teach?" Jack asked, looking out he window and holding his hands against the heater.

"Freshman English. Most of my students are complete idiots, but it's against the rules to throw things at kid's heads."

Jack smiled. She was a pretty cool English teacher, not like the hag's he always got; a step away from falling into their grave or in desperate need of a good fuck.

"Tell me where to turn, Mercer, or they'll haul me off for kidnapping."

Jack pointed to a street on his right, half lit up by street lights. At this time of the year, most of them were out. They'd replace the bulbs when it got warmer.

"Stop right here." He said suddenly, in front of a house with a whole new and unpainted front; it was too cold to do it now, the paint would freeze before it got on the brush.

"Thanks for the ride. You've got a nice car."

"That's what everyone tells me. I'll see you tomorrow."

Jack started to walk up the driveway lazily, swaying a little bit as he stepped around a pile of snow.

"Hey Jack." The woman called, leaning out of the window to talk to him.

"Yeah?" He spun around, nearly falling again.

"Come here a minute." She waved him back over.

"What?"

"My name's Sara. Call me sometime." She held out a piece of paper with a phone number on it. He looked at it for a moment, letting his brain register what was happening. Hot older woman, taught at his school, giving him a number. He was drunk. She was probably drunk. This would all look better in the morning, if he could remember any of it. H nodded, putting the number in his pocket. She smiled and sped off, turning the corner hard so her back end fishtailed.

The house was dark when he opened the door, stumbling up the stairs partially because he couldn't see and partially because he couldn't walk straight. However, no noise came from Angel's door, and after a few minutes of leaning against walls, Jack managed to get into his room without hurting himself. He kicked off his shoes, and in he process knocked his guitar over, but if he bent down to pick it up, he might not make it to his bed.

Miraculously, he stripped off his clothes and crawled under the covers, only hitting his arm against the wall once. The bed was really comfortable; more comfortable than normal. Jack discovered that while he was thinking of what had just happened, he became more and more tired until finally he just dropped into darkness...


	2. Chapter 2

"Jack, wake up." Sofi pushed him in an attempt to rouse the sleeping teenager, but nothing was helping.

"Come on faggot, you've got to get to school." Angel pushed past Sofi and kicked his sleeping brother once. Jack made a noise similar to a growl, throwing the nearest small object at the people next to him.

"I'm not going to school today." He mumbled.

"Yes you are. Jeremiah could have you yanked out of here, and then you'll be living with his yellow ass. So get up, get dressed, and get your butt out to that bus stop."

Jack rolled over, looking at the time. Five thirty. It was too early for this.

He got dressed, skipping breakfast and running out the door. He carried no backpack, just a guitar and some money for lunch after school.

The bus stop was dark, with only a few kids other than him there. They were all black, the stereotypical gangsters in there extra long shirts and pants down around their ankles. They stood apart from Jack, in a little circle of their own, passing around a joint.

_Probably basil_, Jack thought, shaking his head. He pulled a real joint out of his pocket, lighting up and taking a deep drag. He remembered the first time he'd gotten caught by his mom smoking pot. He'd been so afraid she'd get angry, but she didn't. She smacked him across the head and told him if he wanted to get arrested, he'd wait until he was eighteen and play with the big boys. He'd laughed at her at the time, but now that she was gone, and Bobby wasn't around, and he was pretty much responsible for himself, her words meant something.

The bus was late, which meant Jack was late for his first period…again.

"Mr. Mercer, do you have a problem with authority?"

The principal was a dick. Jack didn't like people in power in the first place, but this dude didn't just take the cake, he took the whole damn bakery.

"Pardon?"

"Well, this is your fifteenth time being late to school in four weeks. Your teachers complain that you don't do what is asked of you, and you generally have a bad attitude."

"If they have a problem with me, they can talk to me. I'm not five. I understand big people words."

"You are also incredibly sarcastic."

"Could I please just get my ISS and go?" Jack sighed. He was missing English. That was the only class he wasn't currently failing, so of course they were making him miss a test.

"Jackie…"

"Jack." He snapped quickly.

"_Jack_, I understand that your mother and brother recently passed away, and that does allow for a certain amount of….distraction. However, that doesn't mean that you can completely ignore authority altogether."

"My bus was late. I don't drive, so unless you want me to walk my ass thirty blocks to get here, I suggest you let me go and call the cunt bus driver in here."

"I'm not just talking about the tardiness, Mr. Mercer. I'm talking about the test grades, and the cursing, and the skipping class…"

"And yet you're making me sit here listen you rant about something I can't help so I miss my English exam."

"You're a smart kid, Jack. Why can't you just be…?"

"Normal?" Jack finished.

"I was going to say compliant."

Jack sighed, standing up.

"Because I'm a Mercer."

The principal shook his head, signing the bottom of his suspension sheet.

"You have ISS tomorrow, Thursday and Friday. Report to room 500E when the bell rings in the morning."

"I know the drill." Jack said, stuffing the paper in his back pocket. He left the office quickly, ignoring the skinheads whispering about him in the corner. He'd learned a long time ago it was better to ignore them than get pile drived by an overweight security officer.

He was barely able to get to class and get the homework before the bell rang. He'd have to come back at lunch and take the test, his teacher informed him. _Just_ how he wanted to spend his half hour.

Math class wasn't much of a picker-upper, but science was okay. Anything that involved mixing unstable chemicals was exciting for him. As soon as the bell rang, he headed out to the parking lot for a quick cigarette before he had to make up his English test.

When he entered the room, his teacher, Mrs. Druthers was laughing about something another woman had said. It was the same girl from last night, Sara.

"Mr. Mercer, take a seat. You have the rest of your lunch period to finish the test. Good luck." She handed him a test packet and sat back down. After about a minute, Jack figured out they were talking about Mrs. Druthers husband. Sara hadn't even looked at him.

"Alright Diane, I have to go. I've got a whole bunch of eager, bushy eyed kids to corral. I'll see you later." She smiled, closing her Styrofoam carton of takeout and scooting off the edge of a desk. Without so much as a backward glance at Jack, she left the room, letting the door shut quietly behind her.

Had he dreamed up all of last night? It was a good possibility. He had a nasty habit of getting wasted, and although they'd never met before, he was sure he'd seen her in a few places around the school. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the piece of paper with her number on it. So it was real. Had she just been kidding?

"Just my fucking luck." He mumbled.

"Pardon?" Mrs. Druthers looked up from her book at him.

"Nothing." He waved her off, not even focusing on the questions in front of him. Something about the quietness of the room was reminding him of the afternoon Bobby died.

_"You know that murder can get you twenty five to life, don't you Jack?" one of the cops asked him._

_"I didn't murder anybody." Jack was nearly yelling._

_"I've got five dead bodies, one of 'em being your brother, that says different."_

_"You think I would shoot my own fucking brother?"_

_"It can get awful confusing in a gun fight Jack, I know. Now, maybe you didn't mean to do it, but sometimes triggers just slip…."_

_"I didn't fucking shoot any god damn body!" Jack stood up, pushing his chair back up against the wall._

_"Oooh, look at that temper. The file Social Services gave us says your temper goes way back. Nearly beat a kid to death in the sixth grade, didn't you Jack?"_

_"The files got it messed up." He said, slowly sitting back down._

_"I'm sure they did. Now, if you didn't kill nobody, why don't you tell us who did?"_

_"They were wearing masks. I couldn't see their faces."_

_"Well, how convenient. But even if you couldn't see their faces, I know you know the names of your enemies. So why don't you just give us a list, and we'll start from there."_

_"Victor Sweet." Jack said slowly._

_"Victor Sweet? What the hell would that guy be bothering with a bunch of lowlifes like you four anyway?" Another cop asked, pulling a chair up to stare at Jack eye to eye._

_"I don't know. Why don't you call him up and ask why he would want Evelyn Mercer shot?"_

_"You think Victor Sweet killed your mom now? I thought he killed your brother."_

_"His guys killed my mom and my brother! You think a guy like that would ever kill somebody himself?"_

_"I think you're just looking for somebody to blame, Jack. There isn't any harm in accidentally killing someone. A guy can get of with community service."_

_"When I kill someone, I'll be sure to mention that to my lawyer."_

_"Listen you little shit…." One of them grabbed his face and threatened to hit him._

_"Hey! You let go of him right fucking now! We'll be the ones in jail if he walks out of here with a bruise!"_

_Jack smiled to himself. They couldn't touch him. How convenient._

"Jack." Mrs. Druthers called, and he snapped out of his trance.

"Yeah?"

"The bell just rang. Finish up."

Jack shook his head, writing down the last few answers and handing it to her. He didn't even remember half of the test, but it didn't matter.

He left school early; simply walking off campus after the bell rang. He didn't want to go to the mall; too many security officers who could report him as skipping, even if he said he was eighteen, which he was. He could go down to the movies, but they weren't any fun if you couldn't goof off with friends or throw popcorn at couples. He didn't just want to go home; Angel and Sofi were like freakin' rabbits on that dryer.

He finally decided on the playground across the street from the elementary school. It would be empty at this time of day, but it was good to just sit.

The swings creaked in the cold, and the melted snow he sat on soaked through his jeans.

"Why don't you just go cry some more, you little fairy?" Bobby stood in front of him, tossing a street hockey ball up in the air.

"Why can't you just let it alone, man?" Jack sighed, running his hands through his hair.

"I'm not the one who couldn't handle getting a woman's number. She was pretty hot, too. Bet you'll fuck that one up."

"I won't fuck up anything."

"Remember your first girlfriend? God, what was her name?"

"Abby." Jack sighed.

"Yeah, Abby. Mom thought you were nuts, she had so many holes in her face. How the hell do you make out with a girl like that?"

"The same way you make out with a guy who has a tongue ring; very carefully."

"Speaking of that meat tenderizer, why did mom ever let you do that to yourself? She had to know you would turn up queer."

"Bobby, I swear to fucking God…." Jack shouted, but Bobby had gone. Technically, he had never really been there in the first place. He was seeing ghosts, like he saw his mom. He had no idea why he saw them, they never helped. They only made him remember what he was so desperately trying to forget; that his family had been slaughtered, and he hadn't done anything to stop it.

After an hour, he decided to give up on thinking, because it only made things worse. He started on his way home, and hopefully by the time he got there, somebody would have at least started dinner so he wouldn't have to. He hated cooking, even though he was good at it. Maybe he'd tell Angel if Sofi wanted to hide out from her ex boyfriend in the house, she'd have to cook a meal every now and then.

"Hey guys, I'm home! There better not be any naked people in the kitchen!"

"Man, cool it with the yelling, I'm right here." Angel said from the living room, where he was watching TV.

"Don't you have a job?" Jack asked, hanging his coat up on the rack.

"Don't you have homework to do?"

"Since when have I ever done homework?" Jack scoffed.

"Is there anything for dinner?"

"I don't know, are you cooking?" Angel snorted.

"Why can't Sofi cook for once?"

"Why can't you just do what you're told for once?" Sofi asked from the stairway.

"You know Sofi, I just thought of what I can buy you for Christmas. A new dryer." Jack smiled at her shocked face. She said something to him in Spanish, obviously very angry.

"_Mi corazón es enternecedor_." Jack pouted, flipping her off. Apparently, paying attention in school was worth it every once in awhile.

Reluctantly, Jack went in to the kitchen to find something to cook. Why couldn't he just move out? Because he didn't have money. He could get a job, but he had no car to get there. Angel used Bobby's to get to work, and usually just dropped Jack off where ever he needed to go. Maybe that's what he could do to prove he wasn't a kid anymore; get a job. Just because he worked didn't mean he had to give up on music either. Plenty of guys had two or three jobs before they made it big.

The phone rang, and Jack picked it up, taking steaks out of the freezer.

"What's up?"

"Jack, its Jerry. What're you doing?"

"Cooking dinner, do you want to talk to Angel?"

"No, no, I can talk to you. What are you guys having?"

"Looks like steak and potatoes. Maybe something else if I can get Angel to pick up something. Do you want to come over? You can bring Camille and the girls if you want."

"No, Camille's got a pot roast on. How've you been? Angel says you haven't been sleeping too much."

"Angel doesn't know shit. He's the one who hasn't been sleeping; too busy fucking his brains out. I sleep fine." Jack was outright lying. He hadn't slept well since his mom died, and that was almost five weeks ago. He kept having nightmares, replaying scenes of his past, of Bobby dying, of the convenient store video in Technicolor. He would never admit it out loud though. Jeremiah just laughed.

"Alright, I get the picture. Are you guys coming over later tonight? I thought we were all going to see The Incredibles."

"Yeah, yeah, we're still on." He paused.

"Wait, I might have something going on."

"Like what, you got a date or somethin'?"

"Yeah, I got a date or somethin'."

Jerry whistled.

"Who's' the girl?"

"None of your business."

"It's not a guy, is it?" Jerry asked slowly.

"Jeremiah, I swear to _God_ I will kick your ass if you ask me that again."

"Alright, alright, I got it. You're not gay. So where you takin' her? You don't got a job, so ya'll best be sneakin' in someplace or she better be paying."

"I have no idea. I haven't asked her yet."

"Well why the hell you tellin' me all this shit about 'I don't know if I something goin' on'' if you haven't even asked her yet? Jeez, ya'll white people confuse me."

It was Jack's turn to laugh.

"Whatever, I gotta go. You're making me over cook this food."

"Hey, kid, you call me if you got anything to say, alright? I don't want you gettin' any crazy ass ideas from Angel."

"Sure man. I'll talk to you later."

The brothers hung up, Jack staring at the phone in his hand for a minute before dialing the number on the piece of paper. Four rings and a voice.

"Hello?" She sounded out of breath, but happy. Like she had just been running or doing some other physical activity.

"Umm, hi, Sara?"

"Speaking."

"Hi, this is Jack…."

"Oh hey! Wow, you actually called. You have a good memory. Or a high tolerance for booze."

"Yeah, probably the booze. So listen, what are you doing tonight?"

"I was actually going to watch my brother play at a club. Do you want to come?"

"You're brothers in a band?"

"Yeah; he's the lead singer. So, are you up for it? I'm leaving in like, twenty minutes. I can come and pick you up."

"Where's he playing?"

"The Dive. Come on! I swear you won't hate it."

Jack looked out into the living room at his brother, and it took him a fraction of a second to decide whether or not he wanted to spent the rest of his night like _that_.

"Yeah, sure I'll go. Do I need any money?"

"Money, at a gig? Are you kidding me? No, just some clothes and a good screaming voice, but where we're going clothes are optional after eleven."

Jack laughed.

"Alright, I'll see you."

"Twenty minutes. Be ready."

"Ooh damn, now how the hell am I going to get my makeup done in _twenty minutes_?" Angel's falsetto voice came from the living room, mimicking a girl, who was in turn mimicking Jack.

"Fuck you." Jack threw an oven mitt at him, rolling his eyes.

"Listen, are you listening to me?" Jack stood in the doorway of the kitchen, his arms crossed.

"What do you want?" Angel groaned, shifting his position on the couch.

"That grill's going to be ready in like, five minutes. Cook the food, okay? And don't let the house burn down."

"I know how to make dinner, thank you very much." Angel glared at him.

"Alright then. Do it." Jack shrugged, going upstairs to change his shirt before he was picked up.

He looked at himself in the bathroom mirror, studying the dark circles under his eyes. He looked like a drug addict, or like he hadn't slept in weeks.

Opening up the medicine cabinet, he took out a jar of pomade and slicked his hair up into a mohawk, something his mother had always told him reminded her of her first boyfriend. Yep, out of all of his family members, he and his mother got along the best. She took him to his first concert, bought him his first electric guitar. Hell, she'd gone with him to get his tongue pierced and half of his tattoos. What normal sane mother did all of these things for her son, no questions asked? Evelyn Mercer, that's who. She'd seen it all, and somewhere along the way decided: fuck it, my kids are going to be who they are, end of story.

"Hey Jackie, you're girlfriend's here!" Angel shouted from the bottom of the stairs. Jack sighed closing his eyes. Lovely, what was Angel going to say to her to embarrass him?

"Alright, I'll be back by midnight." Jack said, sliding down the banister and grabbing his jacket.

"She's hot." Angel smiled his signature playboy grin.

"What did you say to her?"

"Nothing; she's waiting in the car."

Jack started to walk out the door, but Angel called him back.

"What?"

He was tossed a tri-fold of condoms. Jack caught them, raising his eyebrow. Angel just laughed. Jack threw them on the table inside the door and went out the door.


End file.
